


bleak grey skies in your eyes

by yoonminoml (fanficloverme96)



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Based on the ending where Libel lives, Bleak, Blood and Injury, Introspection, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Canon, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29369799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanficloverme96/pseuds/yoonminoml
Summary: In the world that has ended and yet continues to change, Arme wonders if Libel resented his fate of being unable to change with it. If he resented the curse he is forced to bear. If he resented Arme for giving him that very curse.He wonders about this often, and yet Arme is afraid to know the answer.
Relationships: Libel/Arme (IDOLiSH7
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	bleak grey skies in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the ending where Libel lives. Please heed tags for warnings.

Time passes in a blur these days.

Arme has long lost the ability to distinguish the year apart, and it has been a long time since he even bothered to count.

The only thing that reminds Arme of the years that have passed is the growing anxiety in his heart with each passing day. As long as time continues to pass him by without the hope of ever slowing down, Arme will continue to be anxious.

He sits by the windowsill of his and Libel’s small home as he watches the scenery outside. Like the light in his eyes, the beauty of the Ground - of the world in general - has since faded away to him. The things that used to bring him joy, like the sunlight bouncing off the desert oasis or the tiny, hurried movements of the small creatures running about or the gentle sway of the palm trees, now disinterest him.

The anxiety that thrums in his heart casts a permanent shadow over the things he used to perceive as beautiful. As the years go by, the only thing that remains unchanged about Arme aside from his appearance is this sole stubborn emotion, rooting itself inside Arme’s heart and latching onto him like lingering poison.

Arme’s lips move, but he does not make a sound. He stops asking the question out loud, but that does not mean he had stopped asking it entirely.

_ “Have I made a mistake?”  _ he mouths.

His thoughts are broken by the sound of crackling fire. He turns around and spots Libel tending to the fire under the clay stove. There is a pot filled with simmering soup on the stove, presumably prepared for their lunch. Or breakfast? Did Arme even eat before this? He tears his gaze away from the view outside to look at the wide expanse of Libel’s back.

It’s that very same back that becomes the source of Arme’s comfort.

And his anxiety.

Strange, isn’t it?   
  


Arme could not bear the idea of losing Libel. Libel’s the sole reason behind their shared immortality, after all. He was what drove Arme’s decision to reject death, and to be rejected by death in return. He couldn’t bear the thought of walking in the new world alone and for Libel to never have the chance to see it. Libel was the one who gave birth to Arme’s desire to create a future for himself.

But now the future is now the present, and the world is long gone. If there are any humans left, they are too far from Arme and Libel for them to ever meet. The world has ended, and yet it continues to change. The scenery changes, the sun still rises and falls. The animals still run around. The trees still sway in the wind.

And in that world, only Arme and Libel remain unchanged. Set in stone, destined to never move along with time.

It is a curse that only Arme should have borne, and yet due to his own selfishness, Libel is dragged along.

Arme is a coward, after all. 

And now, in the world that has ended and yet continues to change, Arme wonders if Libel resented his fate of being unable to change with it. If he resented the curse he is forced to bear. If he resented Arme for giving him that very curse.

He wonders about this often, and yet Arme is afraid to know the answer. 

Arme is a coward. Like his appearance and the lingering poison of anxiety in his heart, this fact about him remains unchanged.

There is a sound of fire being put out. A ladle scrapes against the pot and there is a whoosh of liquid being poured into a homemade clay bowl. It is chipped around the edges - Arme is never the most nimble with his hands. Libel is looking at him, his eyes as warm as the evening glow. His gaze is always warm whenever Libel directs it towards Arme.

Arme wonders if the warmth hides a deep frost of regret that will one day seep through his bones along with his fiery hatred.

“Arme, I’m done cooking,” Libel says, “Let’s eat.”

“Mm,” Arme hears himself say, “I’m sorry I couldn’t help with the cooking.”

Libel laughs, his voice as warm as the look in his eyes. “It’s been years and you still worry about that? I told you it’s fine. You help around the house often enough to make up for it.”

Arme doesn’t. Not really. He tries to, but perhaps like the Tenshi before him - Kuon, who had long departed from the stage of death -, any domestic work isn’t his forte. Libel is kind. He will never complain to Arme.

He’s too kind. Perhaps it’s that very same kindness that exacerbates Arme’s anxiety.

They eat lunch together. The soup is a little salty and barely has any ingredients. There are a few pieces of carrots floating in the soup. Arme notices he has more of it than Libel. The man never brings it up, so Arme will hold his tongue in return.

“The weather is nice today,” he says. He doesn’t quite mean it. It’s always nice - the weather, he means. It’s the same niceness that Arme had long grown bored of; bored enough that he could no longer describe the weather beyond a single word.

“It is,” Libel agrees, “We can take a walk after lunch, if you want.”

“Mm,” Arme says. He makes himself sound excited. Maybe if he sounds excited enough, he can trick the anxiety in his heart to settle down for a moment. Enough that he can truly enjoy the endless time he has given himself and Libel.

Enough that perhaps the weather would be more than just "nice".

They never did take that walk. Or at least, Arme doesn't remember it. 

Arme doesn't even remember the lunch. He doesn't remember the conversation he shared with Libel during and after the meal. He  _ does _ remember the wet feeling of water splashing onto his hands as he helps Libel with the dishes. He  _ does  _ remember Libel's fond smiles.

The others, like the years before, simply blur together in Arme's mind. He could no longer tell one memory apart from the other.

However,

Moonlight filters into the room through the curtains, becoming the room’s only source of light. Arme’s shadow looms across the mattress and spills down onto the floor, blending together with the darkness. The light shines on his hands which are tightly clenched around a black handle.

There is a knife hovering over Libel’s chest, mere inches away from the skin. Libel’s chest continues to rise and fall as the man sleeps, unaware of the fate that awaits him.

Arme grips the handle of the knife tightly, as though he is desperately holding onto a lifeline. He clenches his jaw.

He only needs to bring the knife down once. With enough force, he will piece through the skin and muscle and even through the bones, before the blade will meet the beating organ in Libel’s chest and pierce right through it.

Arme only needs to do just that.

But he doesn’t.

He climbs off the bed and walks out of the room. Ignoring the chill of the night air that greets him and the soil underneath his feet, Arme walks outside of the house barefooted. He doesn’t walk too very far - just enough that he thinks the moon is directly above him.

Arme gazes back at the moon, as though daring it to say anything to him.

To judge him. To punish him for his existence. And for what he’s about to do.

Begging for the moon to say something, Arme directs the knife towards himself and plunges it straight into his heart.

Although his world explodes into a sea of pain and endless red and everything crashes around him as he falls to the ground -

Although the cold of the ground seeps into his very bones and searing agony razes his veins into ashes -

Arme does not die.

The moon continues to stare at him as he lies there on the ground in the pool of his own blood.

The night soon comes to a pass, but Arme’s existence remains the same.

The next morning, while Arme is off picking the plants in the garden, Libel drops the brush he used to scrub their dirty clothes into the water and stares at the garment in his hands. 

There is a red outline of what looks like a faded liquid spill on Arme’s nightshirt, along with a single clean line tearing the fabric apart. 

Libel never mentions it. Arme never brings it up. The knife remains in the drawer of their bedroom and Arme is painfully aware that Libel knows of its existence.

“Do you regret it?” Arme asks, out loud this time. 

This is the first time in years he had asked such a question. The anxiety in his heart is louder today, its lingering shadow now a formidable presence sinking its claws into every fibre of Arme’s being. 

“Do you regret it?” Arme asks again, “Have you ever thought of how things could be different if I just let you die that day? Libel, do you regret it? Regret me?”

Libel looks at him. His eyes match the cloudy sky today, the light in them resembling the crackling lighting in the distance. If his gaze is like lightning, his next words are like thunder, the low rumble of his voice overpowering almost all of Arme’s senses. And if his words are like thunder, his touch is like rain, cold and soothing as he strokes Arme’s hair and traces the skin on his cheek.

“Do you?” Libel returns.

His question is like the puddle of rain that pools on the ground, reflecting Arme’s expression back at him. And in turn, his fears. Just like how Arme could not look away from Libel, he could not tear his gaze away from his anxiety.

Although Arme desperately wants to.

“Sometimes,” comes Arme’s whispered confession, “But those thoughts scare me. So I don’t think of them often. And yet...strangely, I hold onto them. They ground me, as much as they terrify me.”

“Like the thunderstorm,” Libel says, “You’re afraid of them, aren’t you? But you never stray too far away from the window whenever it rains heavily.”

“Mm. Maybe you’re right,” Arme softly agrees. 

He looks at Libel, taking in the grey skies in his eyes, the lightning in his gaze, and the low rumbling thunder in his voice. He drowns in the rain that is his touch.

And acknowledges the thunderstorm that is Libel’s existence.

That night, when Libel is asleep, Arme walks into the small living space. He stands on the chair in the middle of the room and ties a makeshift noose onto one of the wooden pillars. The rope feels rough on his skin when he slips the noose around his neck.

Tonight, the moon will not be here to judge him. Arme would have wanted the roaring thunder to take its place, but all that becomes his audience tonight is the deafening silence broken only by the light thump of his heart.

He is not afraid. For once, he wishes that he is, because fear would mean that he still wants to be in this unchanging existence. To be reminded of the thing he did to Libel - his living, breathing proof of his cowardice. 

But he isn’t.

He steps off the chair and lets the rope dig into his skin. He hears the crack of bones before he blacks out.

Arme does not die. He wakes up on the ground, the rope still around his neck. Libel is looking at him, his hands outstretched towards him. 

Libel’s eyes hold kindness. Arme wishes that they do not.

“Good morning, Arme,” Libel says.

“Good morning, Libel,” Arme answers.

They have a modest breakfast and talk about the garden’s progress - the lettuce is finally growing so maybe the soup can have a different topping this time. It is only when the midday sun rises high in the air that Arme realizes that he has not seen the noose anywhere after Libel takes it from him.

Arme doesn’t ask. Libel never tells him.

Libel tells him stories of the Rebellion sometimes.

The instances have become far and few in between these days, but today, with Arme’s head on his lap, Libel recounts some of the more older stories. Stories of the days when all of them were much younger. Much more optimistic even in the harsh conditions of the Ground.

They are stories Arme has heard before, but he listens quietly and carefully as Libel continues to recount them. He sees the ghost of a smile gracing Libel’s gentle features. He feels the man’s cool touch against his hair. He drowns in Libel’s low murmur.

He pretends to not notice when Libel’s fingers skim against the rope marks around Arme’s neck. Though the broken bones have long healed, the marks remain for a little longer, serving as a stark reminder of what Arme tried to do the night before.

“Fuga was an eager, overexcited kid,” Libel says, “He got into trouble a lot and had to rely on the older members to get him out of it. But he’s earnest and kind so no one can really stay mad at him for too long.”

“Does that include you?” Arme asks.

Libel chuckles. “I lost my temper at him from time to time, but like I said, no one can really stay angry at him for too long. Not even Cura.”

Libel has yet to be angry at Arme. Arme couldn’t remember how many years it has been since they’ve been together, but throughout all those years, Arme has yet to see Libel direct his anger towards him. He wonders what it would be like to be the receiving end of his wrath. Would his heart thump nervously in his chest? Would he be afraid?

Would Arme welcome this unknown emotion he craves from Libel, or would he run away from it?

He’s painfully curious. He wants Libel to look at him differently. He wants Libel to stop smiling at him. Arme wants Libel to punish him for what Arme did to him.

So Arme’s anxiety feels justified.

“Fuga was really lucky,” Arme says softly.

He feels Libel’s hand caress the rope marks on his throat again. Arme closes his eyes and pretends that the hand closes around his windpipe and crushes it.

The moon is present tonight. That’s good. Arme wants someone to witness him tonight, even if it is an unknown moon deity up above.

Do deities even exist? If they do, do they spend their time mocking Arme for his decisions?

Near their small home, there exists an oasis. Libel had taken Arme there a few times for a swim when the day is especially hot. A long time ago, Arme had loved spending time there. He enjoyed the cool water against his skin and the gentle breeze that caressed his face every time he broke the surface of the water after a long swim. 

Now, the oasis merely exists as part of the scenery he views everyday and its significance has faded away.

Tonight, however, he remembers that the oasis is deep. Deep enough that Libel once warned him to never stray too far. Deep enough that Arme remembers at a certain point, his feet could not reach the bottom.

He walks towards the oasis now, feeling the familiar coldness on his feet as he submerges them in the water. His pockets are heavy with the stones he had placed inside. He continues walking into the oasis, looking straight ahead. The water is up to his chest. He shivers from the cold.

The water reaches his throat.

Then his chin.

He closes his eyes and sinks deep into the water, not fighting against the gravity that pulls him under. The water is cold. It freezes him bone-deep. His legs hurt. His heart pounds erratically. His lungs struggle to draw in oxygen. His body struggles to  _ live. _

Arme keeps his eyes closed and doesn’t fight against anything.

He sinks. He sinks. He sinks.

And then he isn’t.

He sees a dark shape breaking the surface of the water, scattering air bubbles around him like a burst of light. He feels familiar arms gathering him close and pressing him against a strong chest. Arme is being pulled upwards, closer and closer towards the moonlight.

He breathes in deeply the moment he emerges from the water and the first thing he sees is not the moon above him.

But the grey cloudless sky in Libel’s eyes.

“You saved me,” Arme says.

“I did.”

“I don’t need saving,” Arme speaks.

Libel gives him a look filled with so many unspoken emotions that it struck Arme’s heart and rendered him speechless.

“You do,” Libel murmurs.

There is a wetness that trails down Arme’s cheek. He doesn’t know if it’s the water from the oasis, or the single tear he shed for the first time in a very long while. 

That night, while Libel sits Arme down on the bed and dries him off with a towel, Arme wraps his arms around Libel’s neck and slots their lips together into a kiss.

Arme belatedly realizes that this would be the first time he will be embraced by this man who holds both his desires and regrets, but he is already consumed by the sensation of their lips moving together to really care.

His first time should be meaningful. It should be full of love and real desires.

Not...whatever this is.

Libel is too kind. He’s always been too kind. At times like these, Arme wishes desperately that he could be crueler to him. To punish him for his cowardice. To hate him for holding on too tightly and trapping Libel in this life with him. 

But Libel is gentle as he kisses Arme back. He parts the boy’s lips and tastes his mouth and when Arme pulls him towards the mattress, he does not fight back. When Arme’s hands move to undress him, Libel lets him. When Arme whispers for more, Libel gives him.

When Arme begs for pleasure, Libel allows the boy to use him.

Arme arches his back and pulls Libel closer when the man rocks into him. He kisses the man passionately and tries to remember the taste of Libel on his tongue. When Libel slows down his movements, Arme wraps his legs around the man’s waist and desperately shakes his head.

“Don’t be gentle,” he begs, “Don’t be kind. Hate me. Punish me, Libel.” His eyes shine with emotion as he looks at Libel. “Hate me as much as I want to hate you.”

“Why do you want to hate me?” Libel asks softly.

Tears trail down Arme’s cheeks. “Because if I continue to love you, the anxiety in my heart remains. The regrets. The memories of my mistake. I don’t want it anymore. I want to hate you.” He digs his nails into Libel’s shoulder.

He wants to hurt him. So -

“Hate me,” Arme begs, “Do not give me the kindness I do not deserve.”

There is a flash of emotion in Libel’s eyes. It speaks of loneliness. It speaks of worry. It speaks of  _ love.  _

“I can’t,” Libel answers, “I’m sorry, Arme. I cannot.”

Arme’s voice breaks when he speaks.

“Then for tonight, use me as though you do.”

Libel is kind. Libel is gentle. Libel loves Arme too much.

That is why he complies with Arme’s wishes, even though Arme knows his heart does not agree. He thrusts and rocks against Arme and for once, seals the gentleness away. He draws out every cry Arme could force out his throat and assaults his body with so much sensation that it has Arme’s head spinning and his heart racing. He sinks his teeth into Arme’s throat just as Arme scratches deep wounds across Libel’s back.

It hurts. Arme lets himself be submerged in it. For once, pain keeps the anxiety in his heart at bay. For once, he could stop thinking about his unchanging existence.

For once, all he could think is the feeling of Libel in his arms.

When they both finish, Libel swallows Arme’s cry of his name with a deep, open-mouthed kiss. Arme returns the kiss with as much passion as he could possibly muster. Libel collapses next to Arme soon after before drawing the boy into an embrace.

Arme closes his eyes and for once, feels at peace.

The next night, Libel’s hands are warm against his. The man’s thumb lightly brushes over the black handle of the knife.

His eyes speak of kindness as he looks at Arme. Kindness and love.

“Do it,” he says, “Kill the source of your anxiety. Turn me into your source of comfort instead.”

For the first time in a very long while, Arme’s hands tremble around the knife. He feels tears gathering in his eyes. There is a lump in his throat he desperately wants to push down.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he sobs, “I’m so sorry -”

“Do it,” Libel murmurs, “Let me comfort you.”

Arme drives the knife down, plunging the blade straight through the heart of the man he loves. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> :3c
> 
> Kudos/comments/bookmarks are appreciated and you can find me on Twitter at @tennssi0907~!


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